It is his pride and joy
His one and only pleasure
His favourite toy
His hidden treasure.
It is the Duck’s saucepan cupboard
Where he keeps his stash
Like Old Mother Hubbard
Except it’s a duck’s trash.
Little bit of this and a bit of that
Where his secrets are hid
From anything to next door’s cat
And perhaps the odd saucepan lid.
It is where he hides when he’s in trouble
When he has gone off the rails.
Not being one to burst his bubble
And I am not the one to tell tales!
They knew he was  in there
Always with a smile on his fat face
And whilst the Duck is sat on a chair
They sat outside his door just in case.
Ramming the odd sandwich into his beak
Made weeks ago hence difficult to digest
The sandwich positively antique
And would fail a hygiene test
But he does not care he feels okay
He is in his cupboard and that is beyond measure
Because at the end of the day
It is his pride, pleasure and treasure.

He needed a plan in which to inject
He knew his friend had become very hurt
So he has decided to treat him with respect
And buy him his favourite colour tee shirt.

That did not work so he’s bought a scouring pad
Well somewhere somehow one has to draw a line
And this thought he had made him feel really glad
Because it meant his friend could make his saucepans shine.

This friend was sinking into further depression
His whole being felt sort of broken.
He sat with his little face without expression
And what is more he had not spoken.

Friends these days have to be sort of thick skinned
Especially when you run out of hope.
Life is not like a a mad, mad whirlwind
But dwindling like soap on a rope.

It was morning, a miserable morning
One that was over in a flash
Suddenly without any warning
He decided to count the cash.

This sent him into an instant flap
He fiddled nervously with a saucepan lid
This was definitely some sort of trap
Wondered what the outcome would be if he hid.

“Young man, come here” the Manager shouted
Something appears to be missing.
His crinkled lips was now pouting
And his throat had started hissing.

“He does not trust me” he thought
After all the things I have done for him.
He was frantically hiding the things he had bought
And envisaged the situation looking grim.

A stash of cake and jam, lemon curd and honey
Silver nice things that he liked to buy.
He was not used to handling money
So he had a day practising how to buy.

It is not his fault if he spent the lot
He thought that they had loads more.
The amount he had spent had been forgot
Well his investments were banked offshore.

He did not want to upset his ten year bond
And his thousands were doing very well.
The extra noughts of which he was fond
And his shares he did not want to sell.

He was never aware of his wealth
Obviously did not know about being poor
He never worried about money or health
But alas the Manager was now crying on the floor.

His greed was now not nice
Maybe he should come clean and reveal his stash
His greed had definitely made him pay the price
He offered just five thousand and the rest of his cash.

It was at a time when women were afraid to speak out
The time when certain avenues were not explored.
A time when upstairs was very different from downstairs
and the moans from maids were very much ignored.

He took advantage of her most nights it was true
It was a case of do as I say and speak not a word.
If only she could have, or done something sooner
but what was the point, her voice would not have been heard.

He lashed out at her with such hatred, and she knew it
she wanted to scream through her pain, her aches.
But she knew her place at that time, she knew it alright
but she also knew she would have her revenge, for what it takes.

She died on a Tuesday, a night a few did remember
but he knew about it, he knew in the back of his mind.
For each time he opened the door to the kitchen, he saw her
the blood, the suffering, which were one of a kind.

Still to this day Martha returns, at the same time, same place
hoping to take revenge on her murderer, she now not afraid.
But he does not appear, to her annoyance, she still to this day
reminds us all of her suffering, the death of Martha, the maid.

They came
and they went.
She recognised the scent.
She followed her instinct grudgingly
Silently, gently and lovingly.
She waited and she waited.
which she absolutely hated.
She heard them again in the silence
Were these whispers in defiance
Were they meant to be heard?
The unforgiving spoken word.
Spoken from the grave she thought
the evidence she sought
Why her? Why now? Why?
She shed a tear, but could not cry.
She wanted to whisper back - she did try.
But no words came, she tried to scream
it was like a nightmare, never ending dream.
The voices left a clear frightening mark
Why did she hear the whispers in the dark?

A fairy brushed past me
Her wings like a delicate veil
Leaving a perfume that is everlasting
leaving happiness but no trail
I had my head in the clouds
in a misty peculiar sort of way.
Thinking and putting thoughts together
to keep me happy for the rest of the day.
My head, full of these thoughts
fifty thousand miles high I imagine
aboard my pretend private jet
of which I am the supreme captain.
I travel in all directions at the drop of a hat
all I have to do is close my eyes
climb aboard and I am away where ever I like
It is my world, my dream and my surprise.
The experience can last for hours if I so desire
or just a couple of minutes if I am pushed for time.
They are my clouds I head for, my bit of sky
and it s all over when the kitchen clock begins to chime.
So I walk in the clouds most every day.
Join me if you would like, no air fare, no tax, no ticket
Just takes however long you have got, for days if you wish
or you can travel to your world in just one minute.

M - moaning.  What Monday was created for.  To moan.  Dragging
ones weary bones out of bed.  Washing, brushing then rushing.. Then we smile when the day is over.  Instead roll in lavender clover.  

O - the shape depicted on our face from lips acting surprised!  The
realisation the weekend has slipped to history panics us.  But it comes again.

N - nothing is quite right on Monday.   The traffic is a nightmare, the wristwatch plays games with our mind. Do not get me started on the buttons on my jacket that dropped off at the glorious moment we needed perfection.  Oh no drop off they did.  Then hid.

D - **** this, **** that.  It is Monday - need I say more.

A -   at last. We say this at the appropriate times, whenever they are.

Y - you are home.  Candles around the bath, to contact undesirable
spirits when privacy is paramount.  Nobody likes a ghost spying on our moments.  Yes, yes, yes Monday is over.  

But today is a holiday. Bring out the wine, chocolates, let us party.
Pack your troubles away, stay in the zone.   You are home.
Party it is Monday and dare I say "Yes!"

The bluebells whisper in the dead of the night
Sweet nothings are all the bindweed hears.
On and on they go till it gets quite light
till the moon disappears and the mist clears
The daffodils stir and join in mid stream
without knowledge of the subject or occasion
A glow casts a shadow from a new sunbeam
allowing the rest of the forest to awaken.
Story tellers, nothing but story tellers
but then there is not much else to do.
Which is fine for most of the forest dwellers
If only the story tellers - the bluebells knew.

A Joy to Behold

Holding a new born baby
Close in your warm strong arms
Baby food dripping down your shoulder
And the constant ringing of sleep alarms.
A joy to behold.
Walking the dog in the dead of night
It alerted you at two in the morning.
Waiting at bedroom door with lead
No fuss just a wet sloppy warning.
A joy to behold.
You just sit down with an evening meal
After a hard day’s work – the ‘phone rings
A sales talk on something you do not want
Slam the receiver down, and then say nice things.
A joy to behold.
Stuck in traffic when you are in a rush
All you want to do is get there and back.
You know something is going to happen
The chap behind you didn’t see you – whack!!!
A joy to behold.
You fetch your loved one from the supermarket
With a thousand bags for you to carry.
She has spent all your wages in a flash
And you wonder about the girl you did marry.
A joy to behold.
Watching your garden turn to weeds
After a heavy fall of the never ending rain.
Pulling them out with roots the size of parsnips
Your back aching, pulled a muscle once again.
A joy to behold. True a joy to behold.

Giving in to something is a silly process
an insult to all that I have ever said and done.
But I am here to stay if you will have me
Because I am going to write, that is what I want to do
So until the sun ceases to shine, till the rains run dry
until the birds in the sky are unable to fly
I will write like the wind, fly like a bird and have fun.
If that is okay by you?

It is with sorrow in my heart
that I say goodbye.
I have made some good friends
on here who I shall miss
My closest friends I shall stay in touch with
If you would like to stay in contact with me
can you message me in my in box here and I
will send you my e mail address.
My health has taken a gradual sliding down the drain
since late last year and fingers crossed hope to have better treatment soon.
I shall be keeping my account here open for about a week so if you decide you want to stay in touch message me.  
I wish each and every one on here good wishes, lots of love Cheryl.

Alone with my thoughts
peacefully minding my own business
Just relaxing waiting for time to pass
and there came a voice over my shoulder
it whispered something.  I looked in the
direction of the call, but there was nothing.
It must have been something.
Cannot have been nothing.
Was it my imagination, my own thoughts
whistling to the wind?
Could it have been my dreams playing out loud?
Were the voices inside my head?
I lay back,closed my eyes and tried to sleep.
I felt a draught towards my right hand side.
I heard a ghostly whisper from that place.
I could only wish my hands would now stop shaking.
My palms of my hands seem to be clammy and there
is a chill running down my spine.
It was not a nice situation to be in.
I heard the voice again. It clearly said "Martha".
It was said in an agonising way.  Not nice.
I thought about my position and did not think twice..
I ran.

Coffee with cream, ketchup on chips
Gravy poured over most everything
Coconut milk in the red hot curry
Hot dipping sauce laced on a chicken wing.
Mashed potato with butter and cheese
hot cheese dripping down the fork
Roasted crackling as crisp as can be
just sliding off the salt roast pork.
Onions braised in red wine sauce
Sausages with hot ******* and peas
A crusty bread roll to sandwich them
A refreshing Greek salad with feta cheese
Puddings galore in every possible way
Custard and every assorted ice creams
Strawberry jam plastered on the toast
My favourites and in my wildest dreams.

And it is with a heavy laden heart
They laid me beneath the Oak.
Acorns rain down on my soul
After the rain's given them a soak.
Otherwise they'd be like bullets
shot out from the slimline gun
Like me, slimline, rather skinny
just me, bones all that will be done.
My thoughts, taken away for another day
taken far into the promise land
when no man, nothing can touch me
yet hold my damp, bony hand.
Gone are the wishes, what were they?
Dreams secretly held within me for all time.
But now those wishes are trapped in the dust
of my mind but sadly they are all mine.

There are times when I could say
"Beam me up" and "take me away"
Send me to another place, not here
Take me to a place where life's queer
Not of this planet, not of the stars
but then would I be on Saturn or Mars.
No I want to be here, where life's tough
where the sand's smooth and rocks rough.
I can take the dark and light
I can manage the day and night
I cant do what they are expecting
No I cant do that.

You can hear a pin drop
in my world; it is still.
Except the gentle beat of my heart
for that is not still.  Not yet.
But it no doubt will
be one day.  Not yet.
You can hear the silence
creeping in and out of rooms
closing doors in my imagination
Keeping the quiet at bay
locked in, that sort of thing.
Welcome to my world, the world of still
the world of nothing but silence.
That is not a bad thing, until
you are placed in that position.
Nobody ringing, no one calling.
Nobody to talk to just yourself.
The elderly do it, they manage it.
They have plenty to say, lived through.
It is tough, this silence, will I do it.

Around the clock
Measured time reflects
Colour and distorts into a stream.
A refracted light beam
A watercolour dream.
A downstream bush
Carries a dappled thrush
Guarded by a deep brown bullrush.
A velvet sword, a companion smiling
The water swirling and sparkling
Dripping cascading and firing
Droplets of light onto the green.
The clock strikes two
Mist has gathered around the Ash
Elm and lingers under the Yew.
Fairies flit here, there in the fog
draping cherry blossom through water,
arranging it like a carpet on the log.
Three, four and five o'clock drift slowly by
The velvet sword shines lighting the way
Fairies, after their meeting away they fly
Bringing six, seven and eight of the day.
Sunshine buries the mist, its warming
leaves, berries are about to burst.
The afternoon starts informing
bad weathers on its way, prepare for the worst.
But around the clock, the sword shows
the time on its hand, its part
and the forest, for the fairies, still grows.

Back Beneath The Lilac Tree

Not much has changed
It has not been that long
But the Lilac Tree remembers
Its roots being firm and strong.
The night that he had disappeared
That is when the tee started to sway
The moon and stars my witness
Sealed in the Milky Way.
Now the blossom sings out
It sings to another tune.
Its blossom is now pink
And has recaptured its perfume.
No regrets, no none on my part
Why should there ever be.
I much prefer pink to blue
It goes with my eyes, you see.
I cannot though, for my eyes have tears
And the tears roll down my face.
Now I remember the hurt
The hurt is written on this place.
The Lilac Tree feels my pain
And its branches touch my soul
I turn and look for one last time
Remembering has taken its toll.

Why is it I can only ever find one glove
Always when there is snow falling from above
Only one I have lost
At my unfortunate cost
One glove, cold hand, spread the love.

You open my door, you shelter me from harm
You line my path with petals, fragrant like silk
You hold my hand, you keep me nice and warm
You put cream in my coffee instead of milk.

You tell me nice things, just when I need to hear
You compliment me in every single way
You kissed  me on my lips at the start of the year
and keep your resolution up every breaking day.

You smile and it lights up my world it is so true
You came to me with promises which you keep
Cupid definitely shot the arrow the day I met you
you look after me when I'm awake and asleep.

In fact you never leave my side do you, not that I mind
You never judge me or step out of line.
You are thoughtful, though irritating but you are kind
I am not complaining however, you are my valentine.

Roses are not red
Violets are not blue
It is this that I dread
Falling for you.

Roses are blue
Violets are red
In my world it's true
It's time we're wed.

So place a ring
On the finger, left hand
The angels will sing
I will demand.

Bells will ring out
the bells will chime
The angels will shout
and you will be mine.

One horse said to the other
"How come you have only one ear"
The horse replied "I don't bother
I can hear you loud and clear"

They were in the last race, the gun went off
The first horse shot off like the bullet did
The other horse just gave a loud cough
crept sideways and in the hedge it hid.

It waited till he heard the hot snorts
and the sound of busy hooves on the track
and then with all the craftiness it supports
he joined the horse race at the back.

The others were tired, thirsty and worn
he was not, he was full of the joys of spring
he made it to the front without even being warm
He was as cool as a cucumber, victory had everything.

"Where did he shoot from and how come he won,
He sprinted from nowhere, in fine form and in top gear"
"Well" said the winning horse, when it is all said and done
there is something to be said for having just one ear"

Perfection. How does one describe this
A reward maybe for being so perfect
Yes, a nice big fat juicy kiss
That would be nice wouldn't it. Correct.

To seek perfection within love, is personal
a sharing thing held between the magic two
Feelings which are indeed very valuable
but they might not be the same for me or you.

To get this feeling right then there is give and take
Learning to adapt, forgive, and make amends for
These things have to be perfected for everyone's sake
Otherwise you might be shown the old front door.

Learn to accept there will be times when the sky will be grey
Blue skies only come from laughter and happiness
Clouds gather then and then doom fills the day
leading to arguments and then nastiness.

It is at this time when humour, caring and a lovely smile
can go a very long way to parting those dark curtains in the sky
That is called perfection, the sun brings giggles for a while
and you just lie back and let the good times roll on by.

Let us pick clover, let us shower ourselves with roses
for the sun has come out and everything will be fine
Lie back and accept what the good time proposes
Make hay while the sun shines, always a good sign.

So bring those rose petals with their gentle perfume
scatter them before her, sprinkle them from above
Let the magic twinkle, let the stars sprinkle moon dust
Let there be happiness, let there be a perfect love.

Love comes in many forms
just from those three little words
then it spreads and performs
like a row of sweet whistling birds.

Whistling to the same sweet tune
a melody that is from the heart
to say that very, very soon
you will never be apart.

The birds, they know that love survives
even the toughest, mightiest test
and that these feelings thrive
on nothing but the very best.

So, with this in mind, give it a try
and just like the whistling dove
you will be pleased and the reason why?
It is that you have found true love.

Looking out at the white, frosty snow
covering branches, twigs and everything
Like a cold blanket, warming the soil
little shoots just waiting for Spring.
Blushing blossom just patiently hibernating
Getting ready to air those frilly frocks
Shaking out their creases to the wind
Ticking off the days to go on imaginary clocks.
The worms slithering underground in icy times
just waiting to get to the surface on a warm day
tapping their tails, hurrying time along
waiting for spring in an impatient way.
Birds with crinkled beaks pecking for berries
hoping for something easier to catch their sight
Just waiting, the Robin, just liking the frost
but then he sees the hungry birds in mid flight.
The creatures, the flora and little me waiting
for the blue of the bells, the white of the shade
waiting for primroses, the blossom on twigs
and of course waiting for the Easter Parade.

Through thick and thin and the rough and the smooth
and what is now will be will be
He was always a very supportive friend a caring soul
and he was always a friend to me

He was always respectful, kind
and had always a solid gold heart
His work was always up there with the best
right from the very start.

I will miss him, and I wish him well
He had so much talent I can tell you that for free
Keep writing my friend, that is important
and you know he was always a friend to me.

Take the wool from my eyes
keep me forever near
Silence the moans,still my soul
for I am alive, still here.

Always place you hand in mine
for then I have nothing to dread or fear
Dry my tears, still my worrying soul
for I am alive, still here,

I sat on the park bench
with a cheese sandwich
and a flask of milky tea.
Watching the ducks and the geese.
There was an icy mist
gathering across the lake.
Cool waters drifted towards the bank
and frozen cobwebs danced in the breeze.
I observed closely the emerald green ducks
They had purple scarves around their necks
and had a smile on their golden beaks.
They were slipping and sliding, skating on ice
Their pond had turned to solid ice,
They were worth watching just for the fun
The sun had not put in an appearance yet.
The ducks seemed unable to get their feet
to walk, they slid, like a kid on a slide.
But it was the expression portrayed on their beaks
that did it for me. They crinkled. They had wrinkled smiles.
They realised they were having fun.  That was nice.
My cheese sandwich froze, along with the tea.
But my breath was hot, I smiled a lot, which
in itself was more than enough for me.

They say happiness is a gift
Does it come with its own bow?
Wrapped in nice paper in a box
this is something I need to know.
I should think this is hardly likely
Happiness comes from one's heart
Happiness spreads and is infectious
It tears the sadness very much apart.
Smile and the world smiles back at you
Laugh and they will do the same.
That is common knowledge is it not?
We are all playing the same game!
So spread a little joy, smile and then laugh
Happiness is there for all to spread
Instead of frowning, chuckle and giggle
and bring a little happiness instead.

She blushed
she went beetroot red.
his breath quickened pace
he too went red in the face
Their hands shook
He had another look
He went red a little more
Her eyes were glued to the floor.
She was tenser than tense
to him things did not make sense.
What was wrong, does anyone know?
Is Cupid short of one arrow? if so
it has most probably got lost above
in the little land they call love.

To you I raise my frothy glass of beer
To wish you all the best and lots of good cheer
I wish you good health
with lashings of good wealth
And may you all have a Happy New Year.

Someone told him he's going through a bad patch
He certainly does have some very strange ways
but I think he knows nothing could ever match
the sheer beauty of his former glory days.

He used to live in a very humble two up two down
life was hard growing up in his kind of place
But you could always meet someone nice in the town
who would cheer you up and put a smile on your face.

True, life was hard but they all got by
Life was a  challenge, a funny sort of phase
sometimes all one could do was sit and cry
but that was then in the distant glory days.

But why call them "glory days" I hear you say
Well humour was in-bred to all the folk living there
Laughter was for pudding when the dinner was grey
To find that amongst strife is something quite rare.

A joke was made about all the failing and bad things in life
whether or not it made you chuckle it was still made
Life was then like managing a deck of cards
Hit rock bottom then the joker was played.

The other end of the scale was off the cards
Jackpot was always the winning goal
There was always people to give you their regards
They would give you anything, even their soul.

They were one big happy family in those glory days
One for all and all for one another so it seems.
To this day that how things happen and it stays
This did happen he said, it was one of his best dreams.

Hunting in the recess of one’s mind
Combing through the shelves and drawers
Looking for some truth to be found
Searching behind hidden doors.

Delving, waiting, and then what is to be
My mind cannot take any more
Piles of ******* useless information stored
Like piles of unwashed laundry on the floor.

Found the information that I need
Scanned and then do I trust what is there.
Shove it where I found it once again
At this precise moment I don’t think I care.

Sitting around
waiting for the big moment
endless hours skim around
the bare face clock
The clock wont lie
It has one face not two
Unlike the town hall clock
that must tell some stories.
Waiting around
not in a busy crowd
but in rows, on lonely chairs
looking to one's left
then to the right.
Then back to the floor
Waiting in rows
nowhere to go
just through the cold door
Seem to be waiting forever more.
Waiting for Christmas so it seems
it will be here quicker than you know
papers will be torn,
on the day A Baby was born
Waiting for the New Year
Bells ring out, lights adorn the sky
another year goes flying by
A new year will ring
and what will it bring
happiness, or yes I hope so
I will wait gladly for that one.

Pushing one's luck
a bit too far.
Sitting on a grumpy donkey
wearing a hat with "Kiss me quick"
is a dare too far,
Walking up and down the beach
treading on bottle tops, and rusty blades
The donkey with a false smile, seething
His choppers gleaming grey in the sun
to match his fur, slicked down with chip shop grease
ready to release the youngster like a trick
when his march up and down is done
all for but a few pence, makes him sick.
But his pal with his hat with slogan "Be happy"
and "Happy to oblige" next to are fed up.
Why cant they do what they want to do.
They soldier on through rain and shine.
Giving rides to loving kiddies.
They appreciate a little kiss now and then.
A bite of an apple, their little feet egging them on.
It is the grown ups, with their crowns of hankies
knotted at each corner, their cold tea on the beach.
Huddled behind wind breaks trying to keep warm.
With a tray of sandy sandwiches.  Together with
last week's cheese.  Bring back memories.  A ride.

There she sits
poking holes through daisy stems
feeding the next through to make a chain.
Again and again.
A daisy chain.  It never rained.  It did not need to.
In our hearts it was always summer.  Then.
When we were young and free to roam.  When
we were young.  She still is in her heart.  Her soul
is old,  She is cold. But the memories warm her.
She lies under the daisies and revisits them whenever.
When she can.  While she can.  Trapped in her daisy time.
Not such a crime is it   To be left here.  With her heart.
She sits again and again threading daisies in a chain.
These are lazy days.  Tight nights.  White ways.  Dark fights.
Again and again these are lazy days.

Santa has got out his polishing cloth
giving the old sleigh a good rub down.
Drilling the reindeer with simple rules
to obey each law in each and every town.

Like dont shout to each other in the dead of night
keep conversation to a whisper if that
If the hooves look *****, close inspection needed
before landing on each roof use the special mat.

"He has a hope in hell" shouted Dancer, "a hope in hell"
I would have thought a smooth landing is called for.
The chimney is now out of question, since the weight gain
so we aim to shoot you at speed through the door.

"Getting the position correct in the sky hey old chaps"
agreed all the reindeer with a smile on each face.
"a fast good entry is what's needed, whizz him in!
With the right sack of toys going in the right place."

A disgruntled Santa knew they were correct
and he started to polish each and every hoof.
The reindeer offered Rudolph's nose to polish
so they could see where they were on each roof.

Like a beacon in the snow they giggled, a torch of red
Like a glow in the dark, a flashing beacon.
The rest of the reindeer suggested more like
an indication of how many mince pies he's eaten!

What with Santa half sloshed before even
half way round and moaning in the back.
And then there is Rudolph a bit pale by then
and then Santa starts being sick in the sack.

A nightmare they all knew what to do.
The call came, off they shot, they'd got what they need
A cheeky grin was had by all, they were in charge
A good well run team flying above us at speed.

Keep what you have sweet
and keep surprises afloat
treat each day as a  new day
and do not rock the boat.

Give respect and you will receive it
back and ten times over at least
Keep laughter at the top of the tree
and each meal as your wedding feast.

Pay each other compliments like never before
Cuddling does the magic trick
Learn to ignore the snoring, the moaning
and everything else that makes you sick.

Partnerships should be blessed each day
like baking him his favourite cake
it is like taking the rough with the smooth
knowing how to give and to take.

These are the first steps to everlasting love
follow them and you cant possibly go wrong
just simple steps to keep what you have alive
of course "Everlasting Love" is my favourite song.

Like the snow that drifts under a door
dormant for a while but safe and sound
for now.  Until the wind blows, it goes
somewhere for now. Blows around
then the snow falls like  stars from the sky
twinkling down, sugary and sweet
for now.  Then it drifts,sparkling and dry
like the drink in your shiny glass,
topped with a cherry on a bit of wood
like the twig by your door with a berry
stuck to it for now. Shake not stirred if it could
like James would.  Ice drifts, sealing in frozen
red berries around my doorstep .Drifting ice
that floats on top of the world at the cap
reminding me that the shards of ice poking
out of my garden watering tap
look the same for now.  It is the same.

It does not cost anything
the emotion is totally free
It is everything to be loved
Do you agree with me?
Spare a though this Christmas
for all those that dont have love
Just think what it is like and pray
to the great Lord above.
Pray for those that go without
no love, nothing to make their dreams come true
In this day and age it should not be like this
the only one that can make this change is you.
To be loved is everything, it does not cost much
Just a kind word, a helping hand, anything
Just that helping hand is what they are waiting for
You never know, for them it is everything.

I would like to take this opportunity to wish you all a safe, peaceful and very happy Christmas.
This site is a wonderful friendly place and I have enjoyed reading your work.  Keep writing everyone and I wish you a successful New Year 2016.  Happy Christmas with love from Cheryl

I thought I heard a chilly silence in the dead of the night
I tiptoed cautiously and opened the cold curtain
From what I can gather everything has turned white
I was rather sleepy and I could not have been certain.

But in the morning it was revealed I was right
everywhere was draped in a blanket of snow
looking so crisp, magical and glistening with light
I crept back to the warmth of the bed away from the window.

I pulled the sheets and blankets over my head
tucked into the silence and comfort once again
snuggled in the land of dreams in my bed
listening to the wind whistling through the window pane.

What I'm about to tell you is the truth
It happened when i was in my youth
All I used to eat
was something sweet
and that affected my left front tooth.

I had just arrived by the midnight train
and to my horror it had started to rain
I was beginning to get rather wet through
waiting patiently in the endless queue
which was positioned under a leaking drain.

Shooting into and then out of the cosmic bars
was a sports fan from the planet Mars.
He'd obtained a one way ticket
to watch the outer space cricket
But was so drunk all he could see was stars.

I watched a monkey who seemed out of control
He appeared to be sliding fast down his pole
It was a major slip
Having lost his grip
and fell embarrassingly into a large hole.